Pick a Card
by Tynesider
Summary: Spyro is being followed by a mysterious figure with one request: for him to pick a card. But there's more to the cards than meets the eye. OneShot.


Their first meeting was short, but it was enough to set the stage for Spyro's day. The event had been minimal, a simple dialogue between him and a squat hooded figure flashing a deck of cards in his direction.

"Pick a card," the figure had said.

"No thanks," he had replied, but as the day progressed it became clear how badly the hooded creature wanted him to pick a card.

In the morning he took a tip to Magic Crafters to run an errand, and on the two journeys he made he was accosted a total of eight times by the hooded man, appearing in random places but always uttering the same line.

"Pick a card."

Spyro paid him no heed every time, pressing on with the job in hand, yet he found himself looking over his shoulder every few minutes just in case he was being followed.

In the afternoon he went to Town Square, partly because he felt like spending his hard-earned gems and partly because he was sure the cloak with the cards wouldn't harass him in a densely populated area. He was wrong. Every few minutes he would spring up and repeat the same phrase over and over again, a deck of red-backed cards in his outstretched palm. No matter where he went the hood followed him – in a shop, by the fountain, even sat nearby while he was trying to enjoy his lunch. He felt paranoia creep into his nerves and fill his stomach, but it was becoming clear that he couldn't hide from this marauder and his 52 companions.

As the sun began to set he returned to the Artisans. He sat himself at the pond that cut off Sunny Flight from the rolling hills of the realm and dipped his feet into the water, a simple yet soothing action that brought him solace whenever he needed it. He took deep breaths to try and calm himself; there was no way the figure could have followed him. He had been the last person through the portal back to Artisans before they switched off for the night to conserve magic. He had seen him one last time mere seconds before he had entered the portal, and there was no way that he could have followed him here. Closing his eyes and taking another deep breath, he forced himself to relax. The figure was gone, he would trouble him no more...

"Pick a card."

Spyro's eyes shot open and turned to face the direction of the voice, whose owner was now sat next to him. Impossible! There was no way he could have gotten out of Town Square! He jumped back in shock, which quickly transformed to anger.

"You again!" he seethed, "Leave me alone!"

He charged at the hooded figure, but his horns didn't make contact with anything. Spyro ground to a halt as he realised he had passed straight through his stalker. He slowly turned to face him again. The hood hadn't moved.

"Pick a card," he said again, but Spyro still wouldn't listen. Experimentally, he launched a jet of fire at the hood, but the flames passed through him very much like his charge had done before. Pure confusion gripped him, just what was this creature he was dealing with?

"Your attacks have no effect on me," the hood shrugged, "All I ask is that you pick a card."

"Who are you?" Spyro demanded, "And why won't you show me your face?"

"Who I am is not important, but picking a card is."

"Will you leave me alone if I do?"

"Of course."

"Fine" Spyro spat, reseating himself on the stone ledge.

The hood fanned the deck out in front of him expertly, and Spyro yanked a card from it and examined it apathetically.

"Shall I show you it?"

"Yes."

He slapped the card down on the ledge.

"Four of Spades. Now go away."

"Wait," the hood said swiftly, leaning in slightly to examine the card closer, "I suggest you pick another. This looks like a very bad omen indeed."  
"What?" Spyro exclaimed, but fell silent as the fan was thrust into his face again.

"Pick another."

"Oh, c'mon!" Spyro protested, "You said you'd leave after I'd picked one!"

"I cannot afford to leave, the Four of Spades means you are in danger. Please pick another or I will follow you until you do so!"

"Fine!"

Spyro withdrew another card and placed it down on the ledge.

"Queen of Spades," Spyro mumbled, "How's that?"

"Worse," the hood breathed, "Much, much worse."

Though he distrusted the figure greatly, Spyro couldn't help but shiver slightly at his words.

"What's wrong?"

"I need not explain this, take a closer look at the card."

Spyro leaned forward to examine his second choice, and jumped back as he saw who represented the Queen of Spades.

"That's Cynder!" he yelped, "What's she doing on a deck of cards?"

"Who knows, but what I can say is that the Queen of Spades is traditionally the Old Maid."

"So?"

"The Old Maid, an unmarried elderly woman, torn from her lover."

Though the definition was lost on him, he felt the ominous words full force.

"Pick another."

This time Spyro didn't protest. This was getting too interesting to leave so soon.

"King of Hearts," he said, placing the card down. "And my face is on it," he added, noticing the purple skull that stared at the blade of the sword in his hand.

"So it is," the hood nodded, "By the way, do you know the order of the suits?"

"No."

"I'll tell you. Clubs then Diamonds then Hearts then Spades. Remember that now."

"Okay," Spyro nodded as the cards fanned out in front of him again.

"Pick two this time."

Spyro did so, not bothering to look as he placed them down. As he did so the hood shook his head mournfully.

"Oh dear," he mumbled, "The King and Jack of Spades, and their faces aren't good omens either."

Spyro looked down and agreed immediately with the hood's assessment. The Jack of Spades bore the image of Gaul, his primal leer captured brilliantly by the inks of the card, while the King of Spades displayed a creature that made Spyro nauseous.

"Malefor," he said, pointing to the King's demonic face.

"Indeed," the hood nodded, "It seems that the cards aren't going your way."

"Why do all of these cards have images of people I know? And why do I keep drawing Spades?"

"That can be answered in due time," the hood nodded, "But I think one more card is required to decipher your fate properly."

Spyro cautiously picked a card and flung it down on the ledge.

"The Ace of Spades," Spyro muttered. The hood fell still.

"Oh no," he breathed, "This is bad. This is very, very bad."

"Why?"

"Everything has come full circle."

"How?" Spyro asked, "What's going on?"

"I can see your fate, and it is most certainly not good."

"Why? I demand you tell me what's going on!"

"I cannot tell you, you must work it out for yourself before time comes to an end."

"What do you mean 'time comes to an end'."

"Look," the hood said, pointing to the sky above him. Spyro looked and saw that the gentle orange of evening appeared to be melting, peeling away to reveal blackness. "Hurry!" the hood ordered, "Work it out! Once the colour has gone you will be no more!"

"Erm...okay..." Spyro said uncertainly, examining the cards with frantic eyes and stealing occasional glances at the melting sky.

"What came first?" the hood prompted.

"Four of Spades," Spyro said instantly, "You said that was bad..." he looked at the cards again, "And there are four other spades on here as well!" he added quickly, "Ace, King, Queen and Jack. The four Spades that mean bad things according to you!"

"Yes!" the Hood said triumphantly, "What else?"

"Well, there's me on the King of Hearts."  
"What did I say about suits?"

"That there's an order."

"What's the order?"

"Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, Spades."

"So..."

"Spades defeat Hearts," Spyro finished.

"Correct!" the Hood squealed, but stopped as he noticed the melting colours touch the floor and begin to encroach on them, "There's still one more thing left to decipher and we don't have much time!" he grabbed the Ace of Spades, "What does this mean?"

"The Ace of Spades has a meaning?"

"Yes! Work it out!"

"What is it vaguely about?

"What have I talked about for the last few minutes?"

"Danger?"

"Yes, the Ace of Spades is the peak of that!"

The blackness scraped at their feet.

"Death?"

"Yes!"

"It's a symbol of death."

"So that means..."

"The Spades kill the King of Hearts?" Spyro asked, but he never heard the hood's response, as at that moment the last of the colour dissolved and sent him spiralling through darkness.

He flapped his wings to fight the sheer acceleration he was battling with, but it seemed to have minimal effect on slowing his fall. He tried harder, pushing his wing muscles to bursting point, and burst they did. His wings snapped and he screamed in pain, watching helplessly as they tumbled away from him. With nothing to halt his fall he began to accelerate again, reaching speeds that pulled his facial muscles taut. He fell faster and faster, the wind forcing his eyes open and making them water uncontrollably. He tried to look around to see if the hood was about, but he could only move his head a few centimetres before the wind pushed it back into place.

Then the pain started. Cuts began to appear in his scales, blood flying out of them and leaving a red trail that followed him from behind. They grew wider as the wind forced them open, and though he did his best to resist he couldn't help but scream at the barrage of agony that had crashed into him. More blood oozed out of him, the gale grabbing them and pulling them down his legs, turning one half of his body completely red. Spyro clamped his eyes shut and ground his teeth to fight this ordeal, but the sheer panic of recent events had destroyed his ability to calm himself down.

He opened his eyes again to see a pinprick of light in the distance, and as he fell the light grew larger, fighting away the eternal darkness he had been falling through. Most of his body was now covered in blood and cuts, and one particularly bad gash in his head was making him feel disorientated. Feelings of confusion and fatigue began to cloud him as light overtook dark as the prominent feature of the void, but Spyro didn't have his eyes open to see the moment that light overtook everything.

When he reopened his eyes the scene had changed dramatically. The basic colours of black and white were gone, replaced by the remnants of a field after an intense fire; isolated tufts of grass still burning. He looked around him, his eyes flickering threateningly under the weight of blood loss and exhaustion. He could see the lifeless bodies of dragons all around him, deep gashes across their bodies signalling how they met their ends. Spyro rolled his eyes to examine himself and saw that he looked no better looking than the corpses around him. He realised quickly that he was on the verge of death.

He saw a figure limp over to him. He was hooded like the figure with the cards, but he recognised the feline snout of a cheetah poking out from the dark void where his face hid.

"Spyro?" he said, kneeling down beside the purple dragon, "Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

"Where am I?" he slurred, a lack of blood clouding slowing his body to a near halt.

"You're on a battlefield. There was a fight but it's over now, Malefor and Gaul are dead. We won."

"Who's we?"

"Me, you, Sparx and the Guardians."

Spyro nodded dumbly, unable to remember who those people were.

"You don't look too good, we need to get you to a hospital," Hunter said, reaching forward to grab the dragon, but as his hands touched scales Spyro moaned agonisingly, the slight pressure on his battered body causing him great pain. "Okay," Hunter nodded, "I guess if I can't move you I'd better bring medical attention to you. I'll be back in a few minutes, and don't you dare close your eyes!"

Spyro watched Hunter depart lazily, his eyes reacting to his requests clear seconds after the order went through. He slowly realised that the hood with the cards must have been a dream, an ominous dream that foreshadowed something, yet in his scrambled mind something didn't make sense. If Spades defeated Hearts then why was he alive when Gaul and Malefor weren't? Nothing made much sense in his clouded mind, but that was easy enough to understand.

"Spyro?" a female voice said suddenly. Spyro glanced upwards to see Cynder stood over him, her skewed leg position betraying difficulty to remain upright.

"The Queen of Spades..." Spyro mumbled, blinking rapidly as a wave of fatigue swept through him.

"What?"

"The Old Maid," Spyro added, "Dies alone with no lover."

Cynder seemed to recoil slightly at his words.

"How do you..."

"How do I what?"

"Never mind," she said quickly, stepping to his side. She grabbed his ribs and flipped him onto his back, shutting out the chorus of nightmarish roars Spyro emitted. Once he calmed she swung her tail so that the blade rested over his chest, its point scraping his sternum.

"What are you..." Spyro asked, but his brain quickly twigged onto what was happening.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "But I serve Gaul before I serve you."

She plunged the blade though his chest, slicing his arteries clean in two. Spyro stayed awake for three seconds longer before his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he breathed no more, but three seconds was enough for one final thought to rush through his mind.

Spades defeats Hearts.

* * *

**This is something I wrote** **a while back which is quite different from what I usually write. For a start it has LoS characters, and then there's the fact it mixes that world with the Originals world. The main thing, however, is its use of a motif. I have a weird fascination with symbology and there's plenty of meaning surrounding a humble deck of cards, most of which I managed to squeeze in. Granted this isn't conventional fanfiction, but I feel the genre is dogged with too much of the same thing so I thought I'd give something else a go.**

******If you're offended by the fact that Cynder kills Spyro or that I've broken canon or whatever then I'm happy for you. Trolling fans who take video game romances too seriously is a fun internet pasttime. :D**


End file.
